


The Sun

by ShunRenDan



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Drabble, F/M, Holiday Cheer, I do what I want, Send help please, christmas in june, cuddly fluff, joker is bad at christmas, joker is bad at gifting, renho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24912724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShunRenDan/pseuds/ShunRenDan
Summary: Every single one of the Phantom Thieves thought that Ren Amamiya was the best gift giver on the planet. He always knew what to get anyone — that was, arguably, one of his three best traits. The first was naturally his hair and the second was how he looked in goggles. The problematic part of those three facts combined was that they all contributed to what he called the “holy hand grenade of boyfriendery.” He was handsome, proper generous, smart (and humble).Unfortunately, all of those facts were also horrible lies. He didn’t look that good in goggles, his hair was just a bad case of bedhead, and he was absolutely terrible at buying anyone a gift that couldn’t be found in a local gift shop. He was a human dumpster fire holding a hand grenade and too much pocket money.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren & Suzui Shiho, Amamiya Ren/Suzui Shiho, Kurusu Akira & Suzui Shiho, Kurusu Akira/Suzui Shiho, Persona 5 Protagonist/Suzui Shiho, Shiho Suzui/Ren Amamiya
Kudos: 45





	The Sun

Every single one of the Phantom Thieves thought that Ren Amamiya was the best gift giver on the planet. He always knew what to get anyone — that was, arguably, one of his three best traits. The first was naturally his hair and the second was how he looked in goggles. The problematic part of those three facts combined was that they all contributed to what he called the “holy hand grenade of boyfriendery.” He was handsome, proper generous, smart (and humble).

Unfortunately, all of those facts were also horrible lies. He didn’t look that good in goggles, his hair was just a bad case of bedhead, and he was absolutely terrible at buying anyone a gift that couldn’t be found in a local gift shop. He was a human dumpster fire holding a hand grenade and too much pocket money.

That hand grenade, thankfully, would only ever risk exploding in a very tightly knit relationship. When Ren first moved to Tokyo, he thought those traits were all safe little afterthoughts: happily bundled little explosives hidden in his breast.

Then, in walked Shiho Suzui, who looked far too cute in a sweater and who knew how to melt his heart with just a look. And so, one fateful Christmas long after he’d settled down and given up thieving (mostly), Ren’s little hand grenade found itself strapped to his left leg and ready to explode on a moment’s notice. 

A gentle blanket of snow draped itself lazily over the streets of Hida-Takayama, painted the mahogany brown buildings blue, and rendered the carefully laid concrete a mess of slur and slush. Passersby filtered through left and right on either side every once in a while, their feet carving well-worn paths through the snow and blurring by Ren while he did his absolute best not to panic.

He was due home to start making Christmas Dinner in less than an hour. It was snowing. Every good shop in the village was closed. In the early morning light, fat, honey-gold lamps burned over the gutters and cast the street in a dreamlike palette whose surreal beauty he’d grown used to years ago.

Shiho still commented on how that beauty struck her — she was sweet and thoughtful that way, which was exactly why he’d married her and exactly why she needed a gift and not a dumb boy-man with ADHD picking it out for her.

A bead of sweat ran down Ren’s brow as he ducked out of the cold and into one of the few open storefronts that littered the street. He took off his gloves, ignored the ring of the bell over the door, and rubbed his hands together while he explored. A shopkeeper on the far wall craned his neck to grant Ren a quiet wave, and Ren returned the favor with a nod.

It was a scent shop.

He drifted among coconut scented bath bombs, ignored the strange, sea-food themed line whose advertising took up half of a wall, and lingered a little by the sweet, dessert-flavored cubby that advertised a slew of sumptuous scents.

None of them stood out.

Ren moved on.

The scent shop was connected to a warm, but otherwise unhelpful wrapping station. By the spring, it would be replaced by something new altogether, though Ren didn’t know what. In Hida-Takayama, shops came and went with every season, their numbers bolstered or killed by the sea of temples that filled the village year round. By the time Ren walked back out onto the street, those temples were burning candles and otherwise calling in early-morning risers.

Cattails, they drifted on the cold wind to pay their respects and occasionally offered him greetings. Most people in his home town knew him by then — the novelty of his grand adventures in the years prior was now a foregone memory, even if the whispers still got to him every once in a while.

A quiet _bzzt_ from his left pocket stole Ren’s attention from the crowd.

It was Shiho. Texting him. Making sure he was alright and that a ghost hadn’t stolen her husband’s place to get him out of bed off-schedule. It was a quarter after six, and most days, Ren didn’t rise until seven. He was a well-oiled machine, unless he was panicking.

 _Oh, god,_ he thought. _Does she know I forgot to get her a gift?_

“No,” he murmured.

Even Shiho Suzui was not that sharp. She was kidding.

He sent back a short, wry _ha_ and stuffed his phone back in his pocket so that he could continue looking for any gift that didn’t, as Futaba would have put it, “suck huge ass.”

It took him most of the morning to complete his first lap around the village. Nine o-clock came and went before he found a serviceable, last minute antiquery, whose guts smelled like cobwebs. There was nothing of use inside, but the owner did point him to a new sports shop on the far side of town, meaning he got to spend another half-hour making the trudge _back_ through the snow to visit his fourth storefront of the day.

After college, Shiho’s love for volleyball hadn’t faltered even a smidge. It took her a while to get back into the swing of things, but she found herself a job at a highschool just one town or two over. It was a thirty minute drive for her to make every school morning, but she liked coaching, and the kids loved her. Sometimes they hated her, and more often than not came home with sore legs who ached after a whole practice’s worth of sprints. 

Shiho was _not_ the delicate flower that left Tokyo.

No, she was an absolute demon and she was going to murder him if he came home empty handed oh god—

 _Joker_ steadied himself as he came upon The Tabletop’s facade. Green and white, it stood out as a relatively modern addition to Hida-Takayama’s meager lineup of storefronts. Pushing his glasses up along the bridge of his nose, he pushed his way inside with the same bravado he took into the metaverse.

 _Sports,_ he thought, victorious. _Shiho loves those._

An hour and one quick stop at the wrapping station later, Ren Amamiya walked out with an absolute slam dunk of a gift. He cooked Christmas Dinner and burned through the day’s chores with that knowledge in mind. He sat at the table smug through their night’s small-talk, and even offered Shiho a cheeky kiss on the crown of the head as he went to push the dishes in the sink.

When the time came, he was even the first one to suggest they exchange gifts on the couch. Shiho, surprised, gave him the glare of a lifetime from one cushion over. A simple box waited behind her back, wrapped in plain paper, its borders crested by a single, red ribbon.

“I thought we said no gifts,” she said, softly.

“You got me one, though,” Joker countered.

“Of course I did. You’re my husband, not an animal.”

“Don’t tell Morgana that.”

“You know,” she mused, “Futaba will be very disappointed to learn that her penpal from the country has mysteriously disappeared on Christmas Day. Should I tell her that the kidnapper left a note about your sarcasm?”

Joker put a finger to his lips.

“You got me a kidnapping? Oh, honey, you shouldn’t have. It’s just what I always wanted.”

Shiho punched him so hard in the arm that he almost dropped the little box that held hers. He flailed and nearly dove over the side of the couch to make sure it didn’t take a tumble, but recovered _gracefully_ on his own with a single, solitary cough.

She watched him the whole time, unimpressed. “Do you want your gift, smart guy?”

“Can I guess what it is first?”

“No,” she countered, thrusting the gift box toward him without any pomp or circumstance. “You’ll ask if it’s me.”

“You know me too well,” Ren thought aloud, passing her the box in his own hands so that he could take her gift. It took him all of six seconds to unwrap the whole thing and open the lid… to reveal a new pair of blazing red glasses. 

They were a little gaudy, a little too flashy, so loud and noisy…

“I love them,” he breathed, taking his black frames off in a heartbeat so that he could replace them.

“How did you get my prescription?”

“They’re on your old glasses,” she answered.

“Did you take them while I was asleep?”

“For a former Phantom Thief, you don’t wake up for much.”

Ren laughed. Seeing her so happy on Christmas filled him with a strange warmth, year after year. That warmth brought with it a wintry reminder that she hadn’t always been that way — that the sassy, beautiful woman across from him was once a wilted flower, and that somehow she’d nursed herself back to sturdy reality with all the flare of a firework. It was a good feeling: knowing how far she’d come, how far she would yet go, and how far they would spread across the flowerbed together.

“I love them,” he repeated, softly. “Thank you.”

Shiho plucked the ribbon overtop her gift a simple smile. Ren watched her fingers tear through the wrapping. Inside of the box was a gift far greater than any he could have handcrafted.

Shiho lifted a large, green and red jersey from the box first, and regarded it with the most concerned expression he’d ever seen. The number twenty-five was emblazoned in snow-white over its chest, and a pair of exploding cranberries over the chest, backed by a field of holly.

“It’s… uh…”

“I got you matching shorts, too,” he proudly stated.

Shiho glanced down.

The ass of the shorts also had cranberries on them.

“These are for me?”

Ren nodded, tenting his fingers in front of his face like the gift-giving mastermind he was.

“You… bought these from a store?”

“I did,” he replied.

Shiho laughed hard enough that Morgana came prowling down from upstairs, his little paws padding down the steps until they reached the three-fourths landing. Before long, both the cat-and-catty were laughing at him. Ren’s face went a little red, but he said nothing. Instead, he kept his fingers steepled over his face, waiting for the reaction.

“That’s a dud if I’ve ever seen one,” the cat snarked.

“No, no,” Shiho laughed. “It’s perfect. Just what I wanted?”

Ren frowned. “Is it really?”

“No, but it’s something only you would get me, you dork,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Only you would try so hard for something so silly. Everyone else might think you’re some suave model, but only I know you’re just a big dork at heart.”

“I’m not a dork,” Ren supplied, eloquently.

“You’re sort of a dork,” Morgana yawned.

Shiho kissed him on the cheek, turning him into a human tomato while she rose from the couch. She inspected the jersey and her new shorts at arm’s length, a single hand all that stood between her and uncontrollable laughter.

“Really,” she whispered, “I’m just glad you thought of me at all.”

“Of course I thought of you,” Ren said. “Have you seen you? How could I not? I…”

It was her turn now for surety — and she took it by kissing him on the forehead.

“Next time, though, you could just ask me what I want. Or ask Ann. Ann always knows, even if I don’t tell her.”

“She’s known you longer,” Ren countered.

“Exactly why you should ask her. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go try on my gifts.”

Ren’s face felt like molten lava from his spot on the couch.

“Would you care to join me, Mister Amamiya?”

And became the surface of the sun on his way up the stairs.


End file.
